


One Should Always Knock

by Kienova



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), Season/Series 01, Sex Toys, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kienova/pseuds/Kienova
Summary: Five times Fitz and Jemma nearly walk in on each other while having some "alone time." And one time someone didn't stop for a closed door.





	One Should Always Knock

**Author's Note:**

> 5 Times FitzSimmons nearly catch one another masturbating, and one time someone does get caught. 
> 
> I just... I can't justify this. I was having a laugh. Hope you enjoy.

**One**

They’ve been friends for just over a year the first time it happens. It’s early on a Saturday morning, the sun barely peeking over the clouds in the late October sky and Fitz is revelling in the warmth of his comforter. They’d finished their midterms the afternoon before and had spent the evening in the Boiler Room, Jemma somehow managing to steal them each a beer despite being underage before tucking herself away in a corner with him, laughing and drinking until the tiny hours of the morning, her yawns becoming more and more pronounced until he had insisted on walking her back to her dorm.

Now, less than six hours later, he’s lying with his eyes closed still, restlessly biting at his bottom lip as his hand strays into his pyjama trousers, wrapping around the erection that had been tenting the fabric and tugging it out, a sigh escaping him. His palm is already damp with hand lotion as he lets out a hiss, gripping his cock and sliding his fingers along it, breath shuddering out of him at the sensation.

Behind his closed eyes he pictures a faceless woman, her body curving over his before she kisses him with abandon, all tongue and teeth as her hips rock against his. As much as he would like to savour the opportunity of having the morning to himself, he doesn’t feel like dragging his pleasure out, instead wanting to go back to sleep for a few more hours. He speeds his hand up, letting his hips buck up to meet his fist as he imagines the woman’s naked breasts; the sighs she would make when he would suck hard, pink nipples between his lips and scrape his teeth over the delicate flesh. Clenching his hand just a little bit tighter, he starts pumping in earnest, imagining the tight, wet heat of the woman sliding down around his cock, her hips trembling beneath his hands. Grunting, he realises he’s getting close, his free hand sneaking down to cup at his balls.

“Fuck,” he breathes out into the empty bedroom, head rolling on the pillow as he uses his own arousal to continue to slick his movements, precum leaking down onto his fingers. He pictures himself pulling the woman off his cock only to flip her onto her belly, tugging her hips back up until he can slide inside her from behind, her back an arch of pale skin against his dark sheets as he starts to pump into her with abandon.

He hears the lock on his door flipping without warning, a soft knocking accompanying the sound.

Startled, he jolts from the bed, his fist still wrapped around his cock as he all but throws himself into the bathroom, clicking the door shut as quietly as he can as he hears Jemma call out his name.

“Fitz?” She sounds slightly breathless, voice still tinged with sleep. It’s like a punch to the gut. The woman in his mind is suddenly gazing back at him over her shoulder with Jemma’s dark eyes, cheeks stained pink with arousal and lips kiss swollen.

Biting down on his own arm, he strips his cock, barely concealing the sounds that escape him as he cums into the toilet, hips twitching frantically.

“B-be out in a minute,” he manages between desperate gasps for air, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on his shuddering breaths or the way he was still pulsing out ejaculate as he braces himself against the wall, wanting nothing more than to let out the moan that is caught in his throat at the pleasure that sears through him.

Vaguely, he hears Jemma start rambling about one of the projects they had been brainstorming the night before, her soft voice carrying through the wooden door as he cleans himself up quickly, flushing the toilet before washing his hands, hoping to God she doesn’t notice the blush that covers his face and neck no matter how much cold water he splashes on his skin. Taking a deep breath he heads back into the bedroom, finding Jemma sitting at his desk with papers strewn about her and two takeaway cups of tea on his nightstand.

“I brought breakfast,” she comments without looking up, pointing to the bag that rests just beyond the cups.

“Simmons it’s barely eight in the morning, can’t this wait?” he asks, trying to remain as calm in the situation as he normally would. She lets out a slight laugh, shaking her head.

“But this is the first time in weeks we haven’t been studying! We need to use our time wisely Fitz,” she replies, tossing him a smile over her shoulder that makes his chest tighten suddenly.

If she notices anything about his complexion that day, she doesn’t say anything. As for Fitz, he tries desperately to push away the thought of her writhing beneath him to the farthest recesses of his mind. 

She is his best friend, nothing more.

If his subconscious decided to disagree with him every single time he tried to get himself off from then on, well, he would just deal with that as it happened.

**Two**

She blames the heat for the hormones surging through her. That and the ridiculous dry spell she seems to find herself in during their third year at the Academy, too concerned with the projects she needs to finish before the end of the semester and picking courses for her final upcoming year than she is with finding any meaningful romantic entanglements. But that doesn’t stop her from waking up in a sweat, the unusually warm May air fluttering in through her window despite the darkness that envelops the campus. Groaning, she fidgets, mad at herself for having fallen asleep instead of finishing her paper but more angry about the incessant throbbing that echoes from between her legs, the dream that she had been having making it irritatingly prevalent that she hasn’t had sex in longer than she wants to admit.

Throwing off the thin sheet, she stares at the ceiling in the dark for a moment before huffing and shoving the pyjama shorts she has down and off her legs, yanking the spare pillow from next to her head and thrusting it between her thighs.

“Bloody ridiculous,” she grumbles, clenching her legs as she squirms until the pillow is pressed directly against her. She moans softly, rocking her hips while letting her hands wander, pushing her tank-top up until her breasts are free but not bothering to pull it over her head. Instead, she immediately lets her fingers go to her chest, cupping her breasts and tugging at nipples that are already peaked and sensitive, biting her lip to hold in the sound of relief that tries to surge up her throat at the feeling.

Letting her eyes flutter shut she imagines strong hands replacing her own, callused fingers groping at her as lips would trail down her neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. She sighed, hips rolling against the rough cotton at the thought of someone dragging their teeth over the sensitive spot just behind her ear while pressing her hips into the bed. She moans softly, giving her nipples another tug before rolling onto her belly and sitting up on her knees, her hands shoving at the pillow until its folded, giving her something to grind against. She knows it’s silly to want to be in control even in her mind, but she can’t help it, desperately wanting to be on top of her dream lover. She can feel how wet she is as she starts rocking back and forth, the fabric slick with her arousal.

She wriggles around until her clit is directly getting stimulation with each movement of her hips, letting out a shuddering breath at the friction as she starts grinding in hard thrusts. Her body clenches against nothing, forcing a whimper out of her as she, for the thousandth time, wishes she had just bought a damn vibrator, still too shy to go into a sex shop even at nearly twenty years old.

_ ‘Just ask Fitz to make you one _ ’ a traitorous voice says in her head, causing an image of her best friend and partner to flash through her mind. Without warning, all she can think of is the way he was practically  _ laving _ the edge of his water bottle with his tongue in the lab a mere few hours ago, sweat dotting his hairline as he bemoaned the heat. She remembers the way a bead of sweat had slid down the pale length of his throat, disappearing into the gap in his shirt where he had undone the top buttons and loosened his tie. Unable to get the image out of her head, she grinds more quickly against the pillow, her wetness leaking enough that she feels her thighs slick with it.

“Fitz,” she whispers into the dark, eyes closed as she imagines his sturdy hands on her, his breath on the back of her neck. Suddenly, she’s not dominant in the image in her mind. Instead, she pictures him behind her, both of them kneeling as he thrusts up into her, his cock hard and heavy as it scrapes against the place inside her that no one ever seems to be able to find, his hands roving over her chest. “Fitz, yes,” she breathes, quickening her pace as her clit throbs, her hips jerking as she chases the orgasm she can feel building frantically in her.

She jolts into her release a second later with a particularly hard rotation of her hips against the pillow, a gasp punching out of her lungs as she feels herself clench around nothing, her hips twitching just as her phone lights up, connecting with a video call. Her eyes snap open, a hand over her mouth as she sees Fitz’s sleepy face come into focus, the lighting in his room bright enough to illuminate his features.

“Simmons?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes and not looking at the camera.

Jemma frantically pulls her shirt down over her breasts, suddenly immensely grateful for the way it takes Fitz a good twenty minutes to fully comprehend his surroundings.

“Fitz?” she responds, heart pounding and hips still twitching against the pillow, the fabric positively soaked with her arousal as she tries to discreetly put herself into a position that doesn’t look compromised.

“Why’d you call? Y’okay?” he mumbles, gazing at her with sleep still written across his features. She blinks at him for a moment before reality crashes down around her. She had said his name while she was – and her phone had taken it as a voice command and –

“I, uh, I was, just, I didn’t mean to call?” she offers, stumbling messily over her words. Fitz looks at her through the phone with a critical eye before he breaks into a yawn.

“You talking to yourself again?” he questions, a smirk on his features even as she watches him lie back down, the dark fabric of his sheets making his eyes a startling shade of blue in the dim light of his bedside lamp. She can’t speak suddenly, her body still thrumming on residual endorphins from her orgasm as a wave of affection overtakes her.

“Yeah,” she whispers, kicking the sodden pillows off her bed as she curls up, the slight breeze from the window cooling the sweat on her skin. “Just... must have been talking something out with you in my head and didn’t realise.” She’s never been more glad for his lack of observation skills in that moment, knowing she can’t lie to save her life as he nods deftly, eyes already slipping shut even as he holds the phone.

“Long as you’re okay,” Fitz says.

“I’m okay,” Jemma answers, feeling herself being dragged back into slumber even as the words slide from her mouth, her heartbeat returning to normal and exhaustion consuming her.

“G’night Simmons,” he breathes, smiling softly before disconnecting the video call.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs into the darkness, dropping her phone against the fabric of her remaining pillow. She’ll think about the consequences of her fantasy in the morning.   

**Three**

Sci-Ops is a nightmare, he decides, slamming the front door shut. The apartment is quiet, Jemma having gone out with a few of the other biochemists after they finished for the evening, leaving him to wander back to their shared flat on his own. The other engineer he’d been stuck working with for the week was driving him up the wall; the other man more concerned with peppering Fitz with questions about Jemma than he is about getting their assignment done.

“Bloody tosser,” Fitz mutters, dropping down onto the sofa after he’s grabbed a beer from the fridge, flicking the TV on and scrolling through the list of movies that are on. He clicks onto a random horror film, grumbling all the while as he downs half the beer, toeing his shoes off beneath the coffee table even though he knows Jemma will scold him for it when she gets home. He tries to concentrate on the plot, he really does, but he can’t get James’ words out of his head.

_ “God, have you seen her ass Fitz? Or those tits? Man, what I wouldn’t give to have her suck my cock. _ ”

He grits his teeth even at the memory, fingers tensing against the neck of the bottle. He wanted so badly to throttle James at the thought that he had been looking at Jemma that way.

“Should bloody well report him,” Fitz grumbles, letting out a harsh breath into the silence of the flat, ignoring the scream from the TV as someone was, assumedly, getting murdered. He knows he would be upset if anyone was talking about Jemma like that regardless, but he can’t ignore the niggling in the back of his mind that tells him he’s thinking of her as more than a friend in this scenario. Huffing, he crosses his arms, dragging his attention back to the screen just as the female character pulls her top off, climbing on top of the male lead before they start having very loud and frantic sex.

“Fucking hell.” He can’t remember the last time he’s had sex, his cock responding to the images on the television almost immediately. He squirms, hoping that his reaction disappears as quickly as it has come. Five minutes later, even though the characters have stopped, his erection hasn’t lessened, straining against the fabric of his trousers. He rolls his eyes, clicking the TV off as he downs the last of the beer before heading for his room, kicking the door shut. He shucks his tie off, dropping it on the desk before rolling up his sleeves and undoing his belt, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He grabs the tablet off the nightstand, typing for a moment before a porn site pops up. He only manages to scroll for a few seconds before letting out a growl, closing the browser and tossing the tablet back down. Letting his eyes flutter closed, he palms at his erection, letting out a soft noise at the sensation.

He sighs, the sound shaky even in the dim light of his bedroom as he starts to rub at himself through the cloth of his pants, trying to conjure an image that would bring him off quickly. He doesn’t want to draw it out, just needing release of the pent up energy and anger that’s been simmering beneath his skin the entire day. He wants to feel guilty the moment he pictures Jemma in his mind, but he’s been able to picture little else since he met her five years before. When he tugs his cock out, he groans, hips bucking unconsciously as he wraps his fingers fully around himself.

He can see her in his head, cheeks flushed and hair mussed as she drops to her knees in front of him, the prim and proper blouse she had been wearing when they left for the lab that morning opened enough that he can see her bra, the light green lace one that had him gulping down a glass of water the first time he’d seen it in the laundry hamper. He lets out a quiet moan at the thought, his cock leaking and coating his fingers as he starts to stroke. Instead of a pair of trousers, the Jemma in his mind is wearing a skirt, the dark fabric pulled tight as she spreads her legs slightly, rocking against the air as she presses kisses to his stomach before lowering her head, dropping a kiss on his erection.

Heat spreads through him, his thumb rubbing over the tip and around the head as he imagines Jemma’s tongue instead, her dark eyes looking up at him from beneath hooded lids as she sucks him into her mouth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he mumbles, his fingers stroking through Jemma’s hair in his mind as he gently guides her head, not forcing her, but revelling in the groan he can almost hear from her, her lips tightening as she sucks harder at him. He strokes in earnest, the hand not on his cock clenching in the sheets on his bed as he fucks up into his own fist. He can’t help but whine, the sound low and strung out as it escapes the back of his throat. He pumps himself roughly, her feminine sighs floating through his head as he allows himself to think about thrusting his hips up into her mouth, the slick slide of her tongue bringing him impossibly close.

He barely has time to cover his mouth as he groans out his release, the thought of Jemma allowing him into her throat bringing him to a shuddering climax. His hips buck into his fist as he cums, ejaculate spurting up from his cock and splashing onto his shirt. He desperately wants to groan and continue to fuck his fingers, needing the last dregs of pleasure, when he hears Jemma calling his name, his doorknob rattling.

“I’M CHANGING SIMMONS!” he manages to yell, hoping he doesn’t sound too hysterical.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!” Jemma’s voice responds, the door, having been opened all of two inches immediately slamming back shut. He can feel his cheeks flaming as the last of his release ends up on the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he tries to suck in enough oxygen while hearing Jemma putter about in the kitchen.

Blowing out a breath, he frantically cleans up using a discarded towel and bottle of water, cringing at the cool temperature but ignoring it in favour of speeding things up before he changes quickly. He grimaces at the stains on his shirt before shoving it to the bottom of the laundry hamper, making a mental note that he needs to do his own this week before sliding into a pair of pyjamas. He manages to detour to the bathroom before Jemma turns around, her attention consumed by the tea she’s making, so that he can wash his hands before joining her on the sofa.

“You’re home early,” he comments, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as high as he thinks it does as he watches Jemma blow on her tea, her cheeks concave and sending a blush to his face neck.

“The conversation was lagging,” she answers, sighing softly as she leans back into the cushions. “I ran into James.” Fitz can’t help the growl that escapes him at the mere mention of the man he’s been enduring all week. Jemma opens her eyes, raising an eyebrow at the noise. “He asked me to dinner.”

“He just wants to sleep with you,” Fitz can’t help but blurt out, hands clenched into fists at his sides as Jemma’s eyes go wide.

“Pardon?” she questions, looking startled.

“He’s been talking about – about your arse and your, uh, boobs, all week,” he stumbles, snapping his eyes shut as he feels himself turn absolutely crimson.

“Glad I said no then,” Jemma mutters. “What a prat.” He can’t help but let out a relieved huff at her response.

“A prat. That’s a lot nicer name for him than the one I’ve been giving him in my head.” Despite his embarrassment about almost being caught, he can’t stop the flutter of his heart when she laughs at his comment.

**Four**

She’s wired still when she gets into her bunk, the adrenalin drop from the day having not yet taken hold of her. She knows that, logically, she should just lie down and wait twenty minutes until sleep will eventually claim her, but she finds herself too wound up to sleep. The rush of the wind from the plane and the sensation of hitting the ocean is still fresh in her mind, but so is the relief of realising she’s still  _ alive _ . If she were able, she thinks she would have dragged Fitz and Skye to a bar to drink and dance and just revel in her existence but considering their line of work and that they live in a mobile unit, she contends herself with slipping into her bunk and putting on her pyjamas once she’s showered and spoken to Coulson about her actions, and to Fitz about his own.

She bites her lip as she pulls the blanket up over her body, her mind still whirring at the events of the day as she rolls first onto one side then the other, huffing loudly at the realisation that she needs something to keep her mind and body occupied if she wants to sleep in the near future. If she doesn’t, she knows she’ll end up wandering around the plane or reading and then feeling awful the next morning when the events of the day finally catch up to her. She just hopes she won’t end up feeling faint in the lab – the one instance of that happening due to exhaustion when she was still at the Academy more than she ever needed to experience. Fitz had been there then too. His wide blue eyes scanning her features when she had stumbled; firm, callused fingers holding her against him as he searched over her scalp for any bumps or bruises when she had come to on the floor.

She lets out a long breath as she slides both hands beneath the blanket, letting her fingers trace over her belly and chest through her shirt, her left hand straying up while the right slips beneath the waistband of her trousers. She can feel the physical exhaustion creeping in even as her brain races and decides to forgo the teasing she had initially thought about and, instead, grabs harshly at her breast, pinching her nipple tight and tugging all while stroking over her knickers, the fabric quickly soaking with her arousal. She skirts her fingers over her cotton covered folds for only a few moments before moving her hand up and then back down, fingers pushed beneath the waistband until she’s able to touch slick skin.

She lets out a sigh, back arching slightly at the sensation as she drags her fingers over her clit in gentle circles before sliding further down, pushing first one digit, then two, inside of her. Eyes closed against the darkness of her room, she imagines lips against her collarbone, a hand replacing her own on her breast as it tweaks a nipple, and long, sturdy fingers prying her own from between her legs before pushing inside of her, calluses scraping against the sensitive walls of her pussy. Keeping her thumb high, she flicks at her clit, pumping her fingers in and out, listening to the wet sounds that echo around the tiny bunk as her arousal increases.

She imagines the hand on her breast becoming a mouth, teeth scraping against her as the man in her head sucks hard, tongue laving at the sensitive bud while shoving between her thighs, his hips pressing her legs further apart as he settles between them, hard and heavy as he rocks against her.

She moans quietly, spreading her legs as much as the fabric of her trousers allows with her hand between her thighs, tugging on her nipple until it positively aches. She wonders, vaguely, if she’s bruising herself before the thought sends a bolt of arousal to her centre, more wetness slicking her movements as she imagines pink lips and tongue biting and sucking bruises across her breasts while a cock splits her open, the thick shaft pushing inside her all the way to the hilt without stopping. She adds a third finger, body clenching hard against her digits as she positively thrusts them in and out, breath coming out in pants as she starts to clench.

“ _ C’mon Jem, fucking cum for me, _ ” Fitz’s voice whispers in her head, his accent thick and the words hot against the skin of her breast. 

She gasps, thumb grinding against her clit as she angles her fingers just right, one last hard pull on her nipple causing her body to convulse, the walls of her cunt clenching tight as she shakes through her orgasm. 

She’s sucking in deep breaths, still twitching with aftershocks as she pumps her fingers slowly, trying to drag out the last dregs of her orgasm, when she hears the keypad on her door clicking.

She barely has time to yank her hand from between her legs, wiping her fingers carelessly on the inner fabric of her pyjamas before he’s standing in her doorway, a look of exhaustion and residual fear on his face.

“Jemma?” he asks, voice quiet and yet broken in a way she’s never heard before. She sits up, flicking the light on as she does, taking in his red rimmed eyes and the way he snuffles, one hand grasping the elbow of his opposite arm while the other rubs at his neck.

“Fitz? What’s wrong?” she presses, suddenly not caring about how she can still feel how wet her knickers are from her release, nor the way her breathing is still slightly ragged, her nipple sore from how tightly she had been tugging at it.

“C-can I -?” He motions vaguely towards the bed and she nods without a second thought, scooting towards the wall of the fuselage until there’s a strip of the mattress left open for him. He closes the door behind him before crossing the tiny space, sitting down along the edge and facing away from her. This close she can see how he’s trying not to shake, instantly putting her hand on his shoulder until he turns toward her, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Fitz –” his name comes out as a scared gasp, her heart thundering in her chest not from arousal, but from worry. Without warning he grabs her, pulling her into his chest as he hugs her fiercely, nose buried in her hair as his hands scramble against her shoulder blades. Jemma swallows hard before curling her own arms around him, letting them lie around his waist and back as she feels him let out one shuddering breath after another.

“Please don’t ever make me watch you do something like that again,” he begs, all but sobbing into her neck. Suddenly, she’s not angry at the intrusion. Not agitated in the least because the man in her arms had been with her all day, from the minute she became ill to the second she was trying to convince him of his role in her survival. She had done it to protect him but now she sees the toll it took – the brilliant man she calls her partner reduced to body-wracking sobs as he clutches desperately to her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, turning her head until she can kiss his temple, feeling him slowly calm as he brings one hand to her arm. She doesn’t think beyond that, tugging his hand with her own until she can press it to her chest, just above where her heart is beating. “I’m right here. I’m okay,” she assures him, her fingers tangled with his as she feels him relax at the motion of her steady pulse. He goes to say something then but she shushes him gently, nudging at him until he gets the hint and lays down, her hand never leaving his as she continues to hold it over her heart.

“I should –”

“Stay,” she admonishes. The bed in her bunk is tiny, barely big enough for one person, but she cannot fathom the idea of him leaving now. He needs her as much as she needs him. He nods, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his fingers just the tiniest bit harder against her breast. They both fall asleep with the light still on and curled around each other.

**Five**

He thinks it should be illegal for anyone to look as gorgeous as Jemma does, running back from the edge of the water while Skye tries to demand that she join her in the edge of the waves. Her hair is billowing in the wind, pale skin nearly glowing in the sunlight as he watches her run in her bathing suit. He doesn’t know how they’ve managed to convince Coulson to let them have a day at the seaside, but somehow they are, the stress of the last few months slowly ebbing away, even if he knows the respite is only for a few moments.

“FITZ! GET DOWN HERE!” Skye yells, waving frantically at him as he rolls his eyes, kicking his flip-flops off into the sand before carefully edging towards her. Jemma is so focused on Skye’s attempts at splashing her from the surf that she pays him no mind as he comes up behind her. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he scoops her up, her scream echoing in his ear as he runs with her in his arms, dropping down into the water as soon as it’s deep enough. Jemma swats at him ineffectually, laughing as she splutters, trying to keep hold of him.

“If I’m in here, so are you!” she giggles, wrapping her legs around his waist as soon as she’s gotten out of his bridal hold, her arms coming up behind his neck as she presses herself against him, looking cross even as mirth plays about her eyes.

It takes everything in him to not kiss her. 

Skye is cackling away at them, yelling at Coulson to take pictures as the older man stands on the beach, trouser legs rolled up as he shakes his head, Skye’s cajoling eventually prompting him to pick up her phone and start clicking away at it. Skye whoops, splashing at Fitz and Simmons as she dives headlong into the waves, coming up with a laugh a second later, water flying everywhere.

“Jemma –” Fitz groans, trying to shift her off of him but she holds strong, shaking her head as she wriggles just the tiny bit closer. He can feel the way her breasts are pressing against his bare chest, her nipples hard beneath the fabric of her bathing suit. God, he could just wrap his arms around her back, hold her tight and –

The moment is ruined by Skye tackling them both beneath the surf, Jemma letting go of him so that she can pop back above the water, coughing, while Fitz manages to stand back up on shaking legs, his blood roaring in his ears from their proximity. He wants to both hug Skye for saving him from doing something insanely stupid, like kissing his best friend, or yell at her from stopping him from doing just that when he felt like maybe, finally, after nearly eight years he could do it.

“Water fight!” Skye exclaims with glee, immediately splashing at both of them while Jemma tries to shield her face, still trying to catch her breath as she retaliates. Fitz rolls his eyes, trying to get his bearings while also participating. The last thing he needs is either one of them to suspect that something is amiss.

They stay mucking about at the seaside for another hour or so, Daisy and Jemma both finally getting tired of the water and going to lie on the blankets they had dragged from the Bus. Daisy rolls her eyes when Jemma starts prattling on about needing to reapply their sunscreen and, instead, just pillows her head on her arms and leaves her back exposed to the sun. Jemma huffs softly as she rubs more of the cream into her skin, twisting and turning to try and get the centre of her back before she looks at Fitz imploringly.

“Give it here then,” he mutters, mouth suddenly dry as he operates on autopilot, pouring some into his palm before he strokes it into her skin, trying to blame the slight dizziness he experiences on the sun and not on the images that flood into his mind as he has to slide one hand beneath the band of Jemma’s top, the flimsy fabric nearly coming undone in the process. He finds a knot in her back inadvertently, thumb pressing and rubbing against it until it loosens and Jemma groans softly. As soon as he’s done Jemma lies down beside Skye, letting out a contented sigh.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. He can tell she’s sleepy, probably liable to fall asleep in the next few minutes. They’ve all been running on empty the last while and he can’t blame her. He wouldn’t mind a nap in the sun himself if he’s honest. Instead, he just sits, looking out at the ocean for a while. The beach is deserted. There’s a hut at the edge that boasts a bathroom and showers that Coulson had assured them worked before he had wandered back off to the Bus, reminding them to be back before sunset. Other than that, there is little else around aside from tropical plants and the roaring waves.

He only lasts twenty minutes before his mind whirs to life, drawing him back to the feeling of Jemma pressed against him in the ocean. The images, however, do not stay as what they were. Instead of carrying her into the water, he’s carrying her out of it, her legs wrapped around his waist as she sucks a love bite onto his neck. She’s in his arms, bridal style again, but instead of depositing her into the water, he’s dropping her down onto the cloth that’s spread out over the sand, crawling onto the thick fabric immediately after and looming over her, her breasts heaving as water drips from her skin.

He practically bolts from his position on the edge of the blanket, glad that both women seem to be asleep as he walks awkwardly to the shower hut, his trunks tented by his growing erection.

“Fuck off,” he mutters down at it, feeling like a teenager that can’t control his body as he stumbles into one of the shower cubicles, turning the water on and hissing as it takes a moment to warm up to the same temperature as the air. He has half a mind to turn it to cold before he growls, shoving his hand into his trunks and tugging his cock out. He gives himself a few tentative strokes, sighing as the pressure lessens if only just while in his mind he starts replaying the way Jemma sounded as he rubbed her back, the feeling of her body pressed against his. He isn’t sure he can survive her much longer if she makes noises like that on a regular basis. Closing his eyes, he rested his other hand against the tiles, bracing himself as he started to stroke, the water slicking his movements.  

He cannot help but crave her. Can’t help but conjure an image of her in his mind as he drags his hand up and down. She looks beautiful when she’s carefree, he thinks, remembering how the sun glinted off her skin, her eyes dancing as they had run about on the beach. He imagines bringing his hands up to the ties of her bikini top, dragging his fingers along the fabric until it would loosen and fall off, exposing her breasts as he would pull her to him, their chests pressed together. He wonders if her nipples are sensitive, he hopes they are, as he wants nothing more than to latch onto her and suck until she’s quivering against him.

In his mind he reaches down between her legs, stroking the fabric to feel how it isn’t just water that’s dampened it, the slick fabric a testament to her desire as he tugs her bottoms off, leaving her naked before him. He wonders, for what seems like the millionth time, what she would look like naked before him. He doesn’t spend more than a second thinking about it, however, too intent of the fantasy of sliding his fingers into the wetness between her folds until she’s gasping, rolling her hips against his hand as she scrambles for purchase against his shoulders.

He’s aching, his hand speeding up without conscious thought, as he pushes things further quickly, imagining her legs around his hips again. Unlike in the water, there’s no barrier between them as he pushes close, his cock sliding through her arousal until he can press inside, her back arching and thrusting her breasts towards him. He leans down until he can capture a nipple between his teeth, tugging gently at it as she moans, rocking against him as he starts moving.

He can tell he’s already close, the feeling of Jemma against him and her skin beneath his fingers having done more to his frayed nerves and resolve than he wants to admit as he feels the telltale clench deep in his belly as his orgasm builds. He imagines, hastily, what it would feel like to have her shatter around him, his own hand clenching tight on his cock. His vision nearly whites out as he imagines Jemma saying his name, over and over, as he spills over his fist, grunting softly as the shower starts washing away the evidence even as he pumps out pulse after pulse.

He barely register’s Jemma’s slightly angry yelling before she’s storming into the same cubicle he’s in, her hair a mess as she fumbles about. He shoves his cock back into his trunks, terrified, until he realises she’s trying to get sand out of her hair and eyes.

“Jem?” he manages, voice, thankfully, sounding almost normal.

“There’s sand everywhere, there was a really strong gust of wind, it got in my eyes and –” she rushes in response, whimpering as she tries to get it out, eyes clenching shut. He grabs the soap quickly, cleaning his hands before he reaches for her.

“Let me,” Fitz tells her, pushing her half-sodden hair back out of her face before tugging her until she’s leaning her head back, eyes red as he carefully helps her clear the grit out. She’s trembling slightly, fingers clenching at his arm and suddenly his heart is pounding for another reason. He hates when she’s hurt or scared. “You’re alright,” he tells her, stroking his hands through her hair to try and dislodge more of the sand as he hears Skye enter the hut as well.

“Simmons? Are you okay?” Skye questions.

“She’s alright,” he answers for her, watching how she blinks up at him. “I’ll take a look at your eyes when we’re back on the Bus. Make sure we got it all. Does – does it feel like there’s anything there still?”

“No,” Jemma whispers, closing her eyes gently and without a grimace as she leans against him. “I’m glad you needed to get the salt off your clothes, I don’t think I could have managed without you.” Skye tugs open the curtain then, looking at them with a complex expression.

“Yeah, well, you know me. Can’t – uh, can’t stand the feeling of it,” he replies, feeling his cheeks heat under Skye’s gaze. The hacker offers them each a towel when Fitz shuts off the water, announcing that they should head back before Coulson comes hunting for them.

“Or worse,” she whispers conspiratorially. “He could send Ward.” Jemma laughs, shaking her head as she wanders off to pick up the rest of their things from where they’ve been abandoned on the beach. “So. Don’t like salt on your skin?” Skye mumbles, looking at him with a smirk. 

“N-uh, no, I don’t,” he coughs. Skye snickers, rolling her eyes.

“You sure that’s all? Or was is Simmons in a bikini a little too much for you?” She’s grinning as she says it, eyes glittering with mischief. Fitz blushes, looking down at the sand.

“Shut up,” he grouses as Skye cackles. The dark haired woman sobers a moment later.

“You ever going to tell her how you feel?” She waits for a response, face falling slightly when he doesn’t give her one after a moment.

“I’m going to start the car,” he says instead.

**+One**

She’s tired, her eyes nearly going blurry from a combination of exhaustion and stress. Since Skye had been hurt a few weeks before, she feels like she’s been running on autopilot, her body reacting without conscious thought. She knows she’s strung out, that she’s ready to shatter apart at the tiniest thing, but she doesn’t let herself linger on that thought, rubbing her eyes before going back to reading the journal that’s spread out on her lap. She thinks, belatedly, that she would give nearly anything to have just  _ one minute _ of calm like the day they spent on the beach again.

When Skye comes nearly bounding into the room a moment later, a giant smile on her face, she isn’t sure whether to be immensely pleased that the hacker looks so well or concerned. She wonders if she should text Coulson but quickly dismisses the idea, knowing that he, May and Ward are busy with their own pressing matters, leaving the ‘kids’ behind on the Bus as a precaution.

“I bought you a present,” Skye says with no preamble, dropping a messily wrapped box into Jemma’s lap before throwing herself into one of the other chairs, grinning maniacally. Jemma can’t help the way her heart clenches as the kindness of the other woman.

“Skye, you didn’t have to do this,” she mumbles, finger sliding along the edge of the wrapping paper. Skye giggles.

“Uh, yeah, I did, because it seems like you’re never gonna deal with it yourself,” Skye responds, watching the way Jemma raises an eyebrow, frowning in confusion. “Simmons, I need you to know that I adore you. You, and Fitz, are the best, well, also only, best friends I’ve ever had. And I want to see you both happy and content. And I know with what we do that’s... a pretty hard thing to ask for. But, and I say this with love, you need to have an orgasm because the tension and sexual frustration coming off you is making me want to punch someone.”

“I- I’m not –” Jemma scrambles, jaw working to form words but failing as she frowns.

“Yeah, you are. And I know you’re probably gonna roll your eyes at me and be scandalised but I’ve never had a girlfriend to buy a vibrator for until now. So if you don’t want to see it as a gift from me, then see it as a gift to me because it’s one of those things that most women give to their friends when they’re like nineteen. So we’re just a few years late on that.” Jemma wants to protest but finds that she can’t, warmth settling in her belly at the thought that Skye thinks of her as a best friend and that they’re at a point where they can do something so  _ normal _ for one another.

“Thank you,” she settles for instead, cheeks still heated from her blush as she decides not to unwrap the box in the common area, knowing that with her luck Fitz would come in. Or worse, the others would suddenly return a day early. Skye beams, getting up to pull Jemma into a hug.

“Seriously though, if you don’t deal with all your frustration I’m gonna end up screwing someone out of the sheer hope that it will lessen the tension on this plane. And please remember how limited my options are.” Jemma ducks her head against Skye’s shoulder at the words, muttering softly that yes, she will deal with it and can they please not talk about it anymore. “Alright, alright, fine,” Skye says, pulling back with a grin. “But if you don’t I’m gonna start asking you super awkward questions. And I might not wait till we’re alone to do it.” Jemma’s eyes widen at the threat before she’s laughing nervously, scrambling up off the couch.

“Alright!” she rushes, dragging a hand through her hair. “I will... attempt to, um, you know.” She cringes, unsure why she’s so insecure about something so natural. And yet part of her is still that young girl at the Academy, too scared to buy her own sex toys because she’s worried about what people may think. The adult part of her wants nothing more than intimacy in that moment, but she’s too scared to ask for that too, knowing that the only man she could consider doing  _ anything _ with anymore cares for her, but probably not in that way.

“I don’t need you to do it now Simmons!” Skye all but cackles, tears streaming down her face. Jemma flushes, realising she’s already halfway to her bunk, her nails digging into the paper as her cheeks flush again.

“I’m going to read!” she defends. “And to... wallow in my embarrassment that things are evidently bad enough that my friend has to buy me a... this.” She waves the box in the air before fleeing the room, Skye’s laughter following in her wake as she makes it to her room, punching in her passcode before all but throwing herself onto her bed, face buried in the pillow as she groans.

So. Evidently the plan of hiding how much she desperately just wants to get off has been going  _ splendidly. _ At least Skye hadn’t wrapped Fitz up for her and presented him as an alternative to whatever is in the package. Or, God forbid, that he had seen her open it.

Swallowing, she sits up and opens the wrapping paper, finding a plain white box with some name written in pink cursive, evidently the name of the brand or specific model. She ignores it, thumbing the top off to find a basic, slender, pink vibrator inside as well as a charging cord. She lets out a soft huff, picking up the smooth silicone before pressing the charging cord into it and hooking it to the wall, making sure to close the vibrator into her drawer in case someone were to come in. Shaking her head, she grabs a book. It needs to charge, she reasons, still feeling overly warm as she attempts to distract herself.

She barely makes it the hour that the device needs to charge before she’s tugging at her clothes, glad that Skye had waited till it was almost dark to spring such a gift on her so that she doesn’t feel outlandish at turning off the overhead light until it's merely a small lamp that’s left on, the window shade drawn as she tosses her blouse and trousers onto her small dresser. Hands shaking slightly, she tugs her blankets down before unclipping her bra. She shudders at the feeling of her nipples hardening almost instantly as they encounter the cool air of the plane, one hand coming to palm at her breast as a sigh escapes her.

Closing her eyes, she skims her hands down her body, gliding them over her stomach and hips before they encounter the lace edge of her knickers, lingering for only a moment before she pushes her fingers beneath the waistband, shoving the fabric down until it pools at her feet on the floor. She climbs on the bed immediately after, hands once again roving over her skin until she allows one to slide between her legs, slowly rubbing over her folds until she brushes against her clit. She can’t stop the tiny moan that escapes, breath hitching as she drags little circles over the bundle of nerves, already feeling herself getting keyed up. When she moves her fingers further down she lets out a whimper, finding herself already nearly dripping with desire.

There’s heat coiling in her belly as she lets one finger slide inside her, mind whirring as she imagines someone else bringing her to such a state. When she was younger, it had never been a conscious decision to imagine anyone in particular, but she doesn’t bother with pretense, body nearly humming with the need to find release. She doesn’t fight it when she immediately pictures Fitz’s hands, calluses pressing into the skin of her thighs as he parts her legs, his own fingers joining hers as he lets out a laugh, breath fanning out over her wet skin.

“ _ Patience _ ,” he chuckles in her mind. 

She drags her fingers, now slick, back up to her clit, pressing harder against it as she lets out a sigh, allowing her legs to fall completely open, knees bent as she feels her cunt clench at the change in temperature that the room causes. She wishes Fitz were really with her, looming over her body and dragging kisses over her throat, sucking marks into her skin. She wishes he was taking her thighs in his hands, hitching her knees up onto his shoulders before pressing her against the mattress, his cock hard and heavy against her as he would slide through her wetness, teasing, not quite ready to push inside her until she would beg him. Its with a slight hitch to her inhale that she realises she  _ would  _ beg him, without much prompting, her centre aching to be filled.

“Fitz, please,” she mumbles into the silence of her room, hand scrambling towards her bedside table until she manages to wrap her fingers around the vibrator, dragging it down over her body until she is able to tease herself with it, clicking the lowest setting on while she rubs it over her aching clit. She doesn’t want him to be gentle or take his time, too aroused. She wants her nails to bite into his skin, his voice grunting out curse words, accent thick against her ear as their bodies would buck and thrust with movement, both desperately seeking release.

She bites her lip as she drags the vibrator down and away from her clit, sliding the tip into her entrance and nearly groaning with the sensation, the buzzing easing the way as she pushes it inside. Her pussy clenches against the intrusion, her entire body nearly throbbing as she feels her arousal trickle down against her fingers as she pushes it further inside. She wonders if he would want to watch, blue eyes with blown pupils tracking the way his cock would press inside her, his skin coated in her juices. She bites her lip, hard, at the image, shoving the last bit of the device in before rocking her hips against the feeling. She imagines him grabbing her hips, holding them tight as he starts to thrust inside her.

Her hand matches the pace he sets in her mind, dragging the vibrator in and out, twisting it slightly to make up for the lack of girth it provides as she clicks it onto a stronger setting. She’s pumping it in earnest within moments, sweat beading on her skin as her body flutters around the silicone, clit throbbing as her thumb brushes against it over and over with each plunge.

“Fitz,” she moans again, unable to stop herself as she pictures him grabbing her breast, squeezing it tight, just as she hits a sensitive spot inside her, her body already rushing towards orgasm. She’s almost there, she can feel it, warmth flooding her belly as she feels herself leak even more against the vibrator.

“Oh God, Jemma!”

It takes her a moment to realise his voice isn’t in her head.

She squeaks when she realises he’s standing in her bunk, jaw dropped open and wide-eyed, seemingly frozen in place. She scrambles for the blanket, yanking it up over her. In her attempt to regain some semblance of modesty, however, she shifts the vibrator that’s still inside her and still pulsing, brushing it up against a sensitive spot that makes her see stars. Without warning, she feels her body clamp down around it, a low moan escaping her as she starts to cum, the orgasm washing through her body until she’s dizzy with it, chest heaving as she gasps, eyes falling on Fitz. He’s utterly enraptured, pupils blown wide and breathing ragged and, as she blinks, she notices the bulge in his trousers, growing bigger with each twitch and lurch of her body.

“Fitz, what are you –” she starts, trying to sound firm and angry but failing, her core oversensitive as she reaches down and yanks the vibrator out, hissing at the movement before she manages to thumb the off button.

“You were calling my name,” he blurts, instantly blushing, unable to meet her eyes as he panics, neck snapping up until he’s staring resolutely at the ceiling. She feels herself flush at the realisation, having not noticed that she was saying his name out loud while she fantasised.

“So you just decide to burst into –”

“Skye said you were –”

“Don’t even knock –”

“I bloody well did! You didn’t –”

“No damn privacy –”

“JEMMA!” He all but roars her name, exasperation filling his voice as she clenches her jaw shut, tugging the blanket closer to her chin and trying to ignore how cold her back feels, naked in the air of the plane and facing the wall. He pinches the bridge of his nose, blowing out a breath and trying to shift his weight from one foot to the other, the pressure of his cock distracting him. “Skye said you weren’t feeling well. I was worried. I came to check on you. I knocked. More than once. You didn’t answer and then I heard you saying my name and I thought something was wrong so I just... I didn’t know you were... but... why were you saying my name?” She opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to come up with a convincing lie but failing.

“I was... um... fuck it,” she grouses, looking up at the ceiling. She thinks he may have feelings for her, or at least finds her attractive, but her heart is pounding and suddenly she’s never been more scared in her life. What if he rejects her? What if he’s appalled by what she’s been doing? “I was imagining you were with me,” she admits, tears welling up in her eyes as she prepares for the unknown. She expects him to stammer. To deny it. To rebut it.

Instead, he mutters “Thank Christ,” before surging towards her, catching her face in his hands as he leans over and presses their lips together, one hand sliding back to tangle in her hair. Jemma lets out a gasp against his lips, dropping the blanket in favour of winding her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the bed with her. Fitz pulls back at the change in position, eyes wide as he looks at her.

“Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly nervous. In all his time spent imagining it, he never expected to have her looking up at him with hooded eyes, already debauched and yet still wanton. In a fit of bravery, she grabs his hand, tugging it down until she can press his fingers into her swollen cunt, her body fluttering around him as he pushes into the wetness.

“What do you think?” she asks, smirking, before leaning up to kiss him again, pulling him on top of her.

XxX

They buy Skye a dozen roses the next morning, as well as the biggest box of chocolates that they can find in the grocery store, leaving the offerings on the table in the common area with a card before retreating back to Jemma’s room, barely getting the door closed before they’re tearing the clothes off each other.

The hacker finds the gifts when she can’t locate the scientists a while later, a frown on her face as she picks up the envelope with her name written on it, flipping open the back and extracting the card.

 

_ Skye, _

_ Thanks for your gift. It made all the difference in the world. _

_ FitzSimmons _

 

She silently pumps a hand in the air, eyes going wide when a chorus of loud moans echo through the plane from the general direction of Jemma’s bunk.  

“Finally,” she mutters, grabbing her headphones and heading for the cargo bay.     

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Shoot me a message here or on [Tumblr](http://www.kienova66.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat :)


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